Soon as our transport rolled an pitched out o’ Plymouth
the tars turned a blind eye to those hot-arsed wenches under hatches
For gone we was off the hooks to foreign parts despatched
A midshipman knocked the rivet out her irons, my Meg I snatched
So as to doss down close aboard o’ the gangway’s hurry-scurry
Quick sticks on the lower decks our barque a school of Venus
Rum doxies in a muck o’ sweat warming-pans for prisoners
Scurvy curs joined giblets with fubsy poxed-up cats
While tarry breeks cared not a joy bout the spats of tarts
All them loose lags went a prowlin for mutton pork poultry quail
Me I seeked my virgin pullet a game un what craved tail
So methought to take a turn amid her frills below Love lane
Nug an smuggle up neat as sixpence my fortune’s gain
Every man jag o’ em grabbled him an amorosa to swyve or take wyf
Even if she be unfurnished in the garret or swivel-eyed dirty drab
Or scab or sorry slattern. Odds bodikins, no double-dugged scrub!
So no hot whim to go a-girlin but face and brace to favour her
Lest she be assigned to a government labourer or settler’s scourer
Cos Meg is no forward wench i’faith more rags than ribbons
No fly-by-night no trapse no loose i the rump wanton
Rather a fancy piece no Judy to fob me off or faddle with my heart
Therefore did I screeve a billy-do for my canary what seemed sweet on me
Meg has smote me under the fifth rib not a jaw-me-dead but jem
For I wished to be swished cuffed together as twere
I fell arsy-varsy up in the boughs in amours
two lifers marinated in chummage
Michael Small January 6, 2021
